


HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOBBIE

by Watson_to_my_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:40:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watson_to_my_Holmes/pseuds/Watson_to_my_Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request from @bakerstreetkid for her friend Bobbie, HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS BOBBIE</p><p>Cafelock...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOBBIE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bobbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobbie/gifts).



> Short but sweet

“John what are you doing?” Sherlock asked. The café about them ticked over ceaselessly, its function continuous and profitable. Two mugs of tea sat before them, holding a hot liquid, which was always cherished. “I’m writing Bobbie a birthday card,” John said without looking up, pen still held to paper, tongue slightly sticking out in concentration. Sherlock recoiled and crossed his arms with obvious distain. With the change in body language, John finally looked up and addressed the man before him, “who’s pissed on your bonfire?”

Sherlock looked through the glass door, out onto the street where his London walked 24 hours a day, people spoke and spat and some were good, others bad. Crime was always waiting. “Who’s ‘Bobbie’?” Sherlock said the name as if it belonged to a foreign dictator yet to be conquered. With such a question, John knew why the sudden change of mood. “You’ve never mentioned a ‘Bobbie’ before,” Sherlock persisted. John rolled his eyes, knowing the detective’s insecurities were getting the better of him. “You don’t have to worry about a thing – Bobbie is a woman.” Immediately Sherlock’s stature relaxed and the tired eyes in his sockets glinted once again. John finished his card, placed it in its according envelope and licked it shut before placing his hands on the table. Palms up, in invitation.

Sherlock saw the offering and softened further still, his shoulders lowered, his arms uncrossed and he rolled his body closer to the table. Long fingers suited to a pianist felt the rough military hands in his own. “You don’t have to feel threatened Mr. Watson-Holmes.” Twin wedding bands danced in courting as the hands moved delicately about each other. “Sorry” Sherlock barely breathed, John gripped Sherlock’s wrists in firm kindness. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I love you, I chose you, I’ll always choose you, I chose to share your world, your life, you are mine and I am yours and nothing will ever come between that.” Sherlock smiled, it had been a tough couple of days, and he was admittedly exhausted. Purple laced the under of his eyes like cob web dusting a door frame, and he wanted John, he wanted their home and to be enthralled in the warmth of it all, to forget about the world outside that space, if just for a minute. “Take me home John." They walked all the way home, arm in arm, the February air making their lungs cold, a single envelope sat in Johns pocket and was posted just before reaching Baker Street.

 

   

**Author's Note:**

> PARTTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 
> 
> Love from fangirls everywhere x


End file.
